


How Not to Bake

by rosarycrown



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, fallen!cas, takes place a weeee bit after season8 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosarycrown/pseuds/rosarycrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out that baking and cooking is a lot harder than Cas would've thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Not to Bake

**Author's Note:**

> short & cute. written for wolfcas over on tumblr!!!!  
> thanks for everyone who reads my stuff and comments/kudos/whatever its really nice of you!!! :D
> 
> i still cant title anything x.x

Nobody had told him that you couldn’t put something with flour in the whisker until you had already mixed it by hand.

“Dean!”

Castiel could hear the familiar sound of Dean shifting his weight to turn around – immediately followed by quiet laughter.

Quiet laughter that turned into very loud laughter, that is.

Castiel scrunched his face and turned so he was facing where he knew Dean would be standing, annoyed and completely and utterly covered in flour. Dean had decided that today was the day Castiel learned how to help out in the kitchen – and he had been tasked with something “simple”, like hitting a few buttons to mix the dough for whatever Dean was making. They had already had to remake the mixture itself twice from Castiel’s measuring errors and the ex-angel was nearly ready to simply quit at the impossibility that was cooking.

The urge to just quit was quickly intensified when he heard Sam’s footsteps, identifiable by the extra weight the taller brother carried, enter the kitchen.

His laughter soon joined his brother, along with a choked out “Oh my God” and Castiel tried to open his eyes to glare at the brothers – but the flour that instantly clouded his vision only made him blink heavily and repeatedly and he could hear Sam laugh more and he really, really hated the Winchesters sometimes.

“You didn’t tell me this would happen,” He accused; Dean only laughed harder, and once the flour was cleared from his vision, he could see the elder Winchester bent over and clutching at his stomach while the younger chuckled and snorted into his fist.

Dean, to his credit, managed to stop laughing just long enough to cough out a half-assed apology: “I- I didn’t think of it Cas, promise.”

“That hardly helps! If you’re supposed to be helping me learn how to cook, you should be thinking of these things!”

Sam took this as his own cue to leave, stepping out of the kitchen and back to wherever he had been (Which, in all likelihood, was either submersed in some text or working on cataloguing the ones he’d already read. Sam had a fairly monotonous day when Dean occupied himself with Castiel – not that he seemed to mind, really. He often mentioned that the two were his source of entertainment because, much to Castiel’s annoyance, occurrences like these were fairly common.), leaving Dean and Cas alone once again.

Cooking, he decided, sucked.

Dean moved forward and Castiel found himself having to close his eyes again because Dean was ruffling his hair, spreading flour everywhere. The hunter was still chuckling too, the ass he was.

Castiel squirmed and huffed out a quiet breath when Dean finally stopped mussing with his hair.

He finally reopened his eyes when he felt a quick press of lips to his cheek and he knew he was pouting but didn’t care at all – and, judging by Dean’s self-satisfied smile, Dean didn’t either.

“It left a mark,” Dean laughed, grinning and speaking quietly, a little bit more privately, and Castiel let out a small sigh because he knew he couldn’t stay mad at Dean for very long, no matter how hard he tried.

“That tends to happen when you kiss a powdered substance.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Your lips are white now.”

“Worth it.”

He huffed out a laugh and finally grinned to himself – a grin quickly echoed by Dean – about the entire situation. He was still coated in flour, yes, and there was apparently a lip shaped imprint on his cheek in the flour that was coating his face; but Sam was easily seen out of the corner of his eye, retreating from just behind the wall and muttering to himself, so it wasn’t that terrible.

Less terrible, definitely, when Dean gave him a quick wink and grabbed a towel before turning on the warm faucet water.

Castiel floated over to the sink and waited, already knowing what Dean was planning and being grateful the flour would finally be off his face.

Slipping his eyes closed, the ex-angel let himself get pampered by Dean - the warm, damp cloth feeling pleasant against his skin and tingling where it touched as the rougher fibers were rubbed against his skin. Every time the cloth dashed past a bit of skin cool air rushed to the droplets that were left; the faintest of shivers ran down his spine when his entire forehead had been washed of the flour. There was a brief pause where he could hear Dean move back to the sink – rinsing off the washcloth, most likely – and he sighed, quiet and pleased.

The cloth was pressed to his cheek only moments after and he knew Dean was smiling even without opening his eyes. The movements on his face were rhythmic, simple, and warm; and when Dean made a circle on his cheek, Castiel chuckled lightly.

Opening his eyes and speaking with a warm tone, Castiel said: “Did you skip the portion of my face you kissed?”

“Maybe.” Was his answer, accompanied with a nearly sheepish grin and slightly pinked cheeks.

And Castiel smiled, just barely, and found himself locking eyes with Dean again. Dean’s gaze was fond and just as warm as everything else about him – his hair, his smile, the way he laughed and then went straight to taking care – and the green he so frequently stared at was staring back at him; what little anger he had left was already drained out of him. Dean made it difficult to stay annoyed, which was almost annoying in itself, but it was also cute, and this thought was quickly losing track of itself and Dean was considerably more enticing than a derailed sentence.

Especially when Dean was smiling and glancing at his lips before whispering “Hey, Cas” and it was adorable and there was hardly a moment before Castiel had replied with a simple “Hello, Dean,” voice rumbling and dropping its pitch just enough to prompt Dean forward.

There was a certain relief to it when Dean finally kissed him – a certain sort of simplicity in the charge and warmth that came with touching Dean. There was nothing heated, nothing complex; just the gentle press of lips with the radiating body heat from Dean’s hands as they found their way to Castiel’s hips.

It was lazy, simple, and perfect.

Castiel sighed against Dean’s lips as he pressed himself a little bit closer (privately reveling in the fact that Dean was probably getting flour on him as they touched and that, honestly, was the sweetest possible revenge) to his hunter, opening his lips easy, slow – nothing rushed – against the sweet taste of Dean’s. He could nearly taste the apple he knew Dean had taken earlier from the pie’s mix (which was Dean’s current mission: make edible apple pie) and it was sugary sweet and reminiscent of cinnamon so he chased the flavor with his tongue, licking gently at Dean’s mouth.

A quiet gasp was his reward, much to his pleasure. Dean was pliant and gripping tighter at Cas’ hips, licking back, hinting at taking their lazy pace up a notch –

“Uh, guys, not to interrupt, but I do want dinner. Which you’re supposed to be cooking.”

Dean leapt back and nearly stumbled into the counter behind him, face pinking as it always did when Sam walked in on them. Castiel had already adjusted to the younger Winchester’s horrific timing; walking in on a kiss wasn’t nearly as bad as walking in on sex, which had already happened before. Dean, sadly, tended to lose his perspective of what would be embarrassing at this point.

“Uh, Sammy-“

“Don’t even try to act innocent, Dean. Just –“

“But it wasn’t-“

“Just make me food, dammit!”

“Language, Sam.”

“I heard you say fuck the other day, Cas, don’t even start with me.”

“I was tired. That doesn’t count.”

“Yes it does –“

“Sammy, don’t you have some book to read or something?”

“Fuck you too. And cook me dinner.”

On that (not pleasant) note, Sam Winchester sauntered back out of the kitchen, leaving Dean leaning against the counter and Castiel glaring at the space Sam had occupied. There was a sinking feeling that he wasn’t really going to live down telling Sam to “fuck off” after the boy had woken Castiel up from his nap – which was completely justified, in Castiel’s unbiased opinion.

Sam had been loud.

It wasn’t his fault.

Several beats of silence later – most of which Dean had spent trying to calm his cheeks down, by the looks of it – Dean finally sighed and offered a tired smile, shrugging helplessly, as if he were pleading that what Sam did wasn’t his fault.

“We should probably get to cookin’, huh?” Dean asked, pushing himself off of the counter and heading back over to the mix that Castiel had rendered useless. “We’re gunna’ have to make this from scratch. Again.”

And when Castiel pursed his lips to contain a grin, Dean groaned, already knowing the tune Castiel was about to sing.

“I believe Sam could use some assistance with his research –“

“Dammit, Cas –“

“So call me when you’ve finished, please?”

He flashed his sweetest smile, chuckled when Dean slumped over, and followed Sam’s path out of the kitchen and into the safety of books.


End file.
